


the skies belong to no one

by Bronte



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir Needs a Hug, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24133357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronte/pseuds/Bronte
Summary: In a world where animal characteristics are commonplace, our winged heroes set their scene.A darker take on the ML Wing AU.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 120
Kudos: 575





	1. Ladybug

**Author's Note:**

> I'm obsessed with the ml wing au

Wings.

Not everyone has them. Some people have tails, others have horns. A rare few, like Juleka, have guanine crystals beneath her skin that gives her the ability to change colour like a chameleon. Many moons ago, the human race had been divided to the point of creating wars between one another based on their characteristics but these days, people had learned to get over their differences and live in peace.

To an extent.

Wars still brew here and there and modern-day Paris is no different.  _ Le Papillon _ has been terrorizing the city for over a year now, akumatizing anyone and anything whose emotions get the better of them. Ladybug and Chat Noir do their best to keep the masked villain at bay, their presence a constant in the throes of the battle. Parisians love them, for the most part.

Because they have wings.

Ruminations bubble. The citizens at the mercy of  _ Le Papillon _ wonder why winged teenagers were chosen as the heroes of Paris. Why not someone who better represents the people? Only a small slice of the populace is winged and it seems that all three of the superpowered humans tearing the city to its foundations every other afternoon sport a pair of wings attached to their backs. Mind you, they’re not the usual type of wings; while Ladybug’s appear to be mostly normal, Chat Noir’s wings are something entirely different altogether.

And _ Le Papillon _ ’s? Like nothing they’d ever seen before.

Cardinal red and proportionally perfect, Ladybug uses her wings to soar across the skies looking for the source of the akuma today. She’d had to skip out of her very first chemistry class of the school year in order to track down the new villain and she wasn’t having a great day to begin with. Chloé was an almost constant in every single one of her new classes in lycée and, to top it all off, Adrien was in only one of them!

_ There! _

She spots her partner perched on a lamppost goading the akuma on with his baton, the membranes of his bat-like wings spread wide to block out the sun. They’re the strangest wings she’s ever come across but then again, her partner is the strangest boy she’s ever met. Playful and flirtatious to the point of being over the top, Chat Noir is a natural when it comes to good-natured banter and kicking akuma butt. He’s her best friend, even if he could be a pain in the ass every once and awhile, and Ladybug wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Nice of you to join us, M’Lady,” Chat grins as Ladybug pauses to hover beside him, “Our akuma is a bit of a chlorophyll fanatic. I’ve been creating shadows to keep it weak for you.”

“At least those things are good for something,” Ladybug jokes, knowing full well that Chat takes every one of her wisecracks about his unusual wings in stride. After a particularly rough day, he’d explained to her that he’d imagined these unique wings for himself for a reason; his real wings, the ones attached to him as a civilian, were an apple of discord he’d rather not discuss.

“The akuma is in its belt buckle,” Chat gestures towards the akuma with his baton.

“Gotcha,” Ladybug swoops in, picking up a rush of speed with a brisk beat of her wings. After a brief struggle, she snags the belt buckle and throws it against the cobbles, crushing it to pieces and capturing the butterfly before it can escape to the skies, “Bye bye, little butterfly.”

“As always, it’s been a pleasure,” Chat lands beside her in a crouch and straightens, offering her his customary fist bump. She bops her knuckles against his and grins as he flaps his membraned wings in the wind, “You look especially gorgeous this afternoon, M’Lady.”

Ladybug laughs and shakes her head, “And you look...especially silly. Since when are the digits of your wings green?”

“Since last night,” Chat lowers his wings to show off his handiwork, “I painted them after patrol. I think it goes quite nicely with my outfit.”

“Why?” Ladybug takes a quick peek at the nail polish and smiles even wider, “Why would you put nail polish on your wings?”

“’Cause I was bored,” Chat shrugs, “And to remind me.”

“Yeah?” Ladybug’s head tips to the side, “Of what?”

Chat’s pupils narrow into slits, “That no one can clip them without my consent. These wings, weird as they are, only belong to  _ me. _ ”


	2. Marinette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time, we enter Marinette's world...

As a civilian, Marinette’s wings are a glossy blue-purple with highlights of phosphorescent, metallic turquoise. The shoulders of her wings are a deep maroon and the pattern of white patches on the rest of her feathers are distinctive enough to set her apart from the other handful of winged students at her new lycée. Her classmates in Advanced Visual Arts gush over her bold colouring and Marinette ducks her head, flattered and embarrassed that so many people want to use her for their digital character study due at the end of the week.

In the end, she chooses a girl with striped skin to partner up with. Marinette enthusiastically admits that she finds the pattern on her new friend’s skin fascinating and together, they discuss how time consuming it can be to shave off all of the peach fuzz that grows in between each of her ebony stripes each morning. Marinette commiserates as she sketches her art partner’s neck and shoulders, moaning about how long it takes to prune her feathers to keep them silky smooth.

Most of the people Marinette knows have mammalian characteristics and the student body at her new school is no different; Collège Françoise-Dupont was  _ tiny _ compared to this place. Marinette can’t help but notice all of the beautiful variations, fur and hair and spots and zig zags, that line the halls as the afternoon bell rings. Luka smiles and waves as she passes the music room, his blue hair turning pink as she grins widely and waves back. She’s happy to see a few familiar faces amidst a sea of unfamiliar students and Marinette turns her attention back to the hallways, searching the crowds for her three best friends.

“There you are!” Alya sneaks up on Marinette from behind and Marinette shrieks, inadvertently smacking her friend in the face with her wing, “Ow!”

“I’m so sorry!” Marinette spins around and rushes towards her friend, cupping her cheeks in her palms. Alya’s eyes water for a few seconds before she bursts into laughter, knowing full well that she had it coming, “Oh my god, are you alright? Are you hurt? Why are you laughing? Did I give you a concussion? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Girl, I’m fine!” Alya assures her, checking her clawed fingers for blood and finding them thankfully clean, “I totally deserved it.”

“No you didn’t!” Marinette despairs, clinging onto Alya’s arm, “I shouldn’t be so jumpy all the time! I keep hurting people!”

“Chill, my dude,” Nino claps her on the shoulder, his amber scaled skin gleaming in the fluorescent lights shining from the hall’s ceiling, “Alya’s fine, you’re fine, we’re all good here. We’re copacetic.”

“Copacetic?” Alya rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly with the back of her hand, “Why do you always say the weirdest things?”

Nino bobs his head, “You gotta learn something new everyday, babe. Just keepin’ it real.”

“Alrighty then,” Alya turns her focus back onto Marinette, “Can you believe it’s the end of our first day at lycée? It went by so fast!”

Marinette shrugs, disagreeing for the most part. The akuma during chemistry had completely screwed up her day and now she has to complete an extra assignment as a consequence for leaving half way through and never coming back, “I’m just glad it’s over. I’m tired!”

“Me too,” Nino agrees, reaching into his jean pocket, “Dudes, have you seen Adrien? He was supposed to meet us here too.”

“Last time I saw him was in geography,” Alya explains, checking her mobile as well, “But that was fifth period. He was a few minutes late and we were all kind of shocked.”

Marinette hums, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Are we still going over to my place for snacks?”

“Yup,” Alya nods, “Thank god, because I’m starving—”

“Sorry I’m late!” Adrien rushes through the crowds of students, waving his arms. Unlike most winged students, maneuvering through tight spaces is easy for him, “I got stopped by my maths teacher. He was really impressed with my strategy for calculus.”

“That’s awesome, dude!” Nino and Adrien slip into their intricately choreographed handshake routine, “You’re always making a good impression, bro.”

“I try,” Adrien makes a whooshing sound as his fingers “explode” off of Nino’s and rubs at the back of his neck, “I mean, I can’t get grounded if my teachers all have nothing but nice things to say about me.”

“Except our geography teacher,” Alya counters, planting a hand on her hip, “Where were you?”

“Uh…” Adrien falters, looking a little flustered, “I was...I was on the phone with Nathalie. I have a shoot tomorrow and she wanted to tell me.”

“Gotcha,” Nino wraps his arm around Adrien’s shoulders, carefully avoiding his flaxen wings. Everyone knows not to touch them — even Chloé — and although Adrien has never explained why his wings are so sensitive, his friends have always been understanding. For many winged people, allowing another person to touch your wings is a sign of having a lot of faith in them and although Alya and Nino seem to brush it off like it’s no big deal, Marinette can’t get over  _ why _ Adrien doesn’t trust any of them enough to stretch out his wings and relax, “Come on, let’s get out of here. Marinette’s place is calling my name!”

~

A half dozen éclairs and napoléons later, Marinette and her three closest friends are giggling over TikTok videos in her bedroom when she first notices them. It’s always bugged her a little, the way Adrien’s face is always just a little too tight, a little too hesitant to truly let his personality shine. She’s only really seen him laugh properly once and that was on their first day of school together a year ago and she’s never seen it again…

...but she figured the reason was his politeness or his reserved nature. She could have never expected it to because Adrien was  _ in pain! _

Marinette reacts before she can stop herself, “Oh my—”

Alya, Nino and Adrien jerk away from Nino’s mobile screen, “What’s wrong?”

Now that she’s seen the transparent nylon cords hidden almost imperceptibly in his secondary feathers, she can’t tear her eyes away, “Nothing! I just—um, I saw a spider!”

“A spider?!” Nino leaps into his girlfriend’s arms, “Dude! Where is it?! I hate spiders!”

“It was—it was behind Adrien!” Marinette exclaims, her cheeks burning. A million and one questions are running through her mind. Why on  _ earth _ did Adrien have his wings bound? And why hadn’t Adrien ever mentioned it before? Once a popular custom among the wealthy, wing binding had been largely stigmatized after scientists and free winged advocates were able to convince the Western world that the practice was completely barbaric. 

Adrien sits up quickly and checks his arms and legs, “I don’t see it. Where did it go?”

“I think it’s gone,” Marinette says, breathing in deeply. She needed to calm herself before she said anything else, “But I don’t know for sure.”

“Sorry dudes, but I’m out of here,” Nino leaps to his feet and makes a break for it, “I’ll be on the couch downstairs if you need me.”

“Me too,” Alya follows him before giving Marinette a wink over her shoulder, “Maybe you and Adrien can look for the spider together.”

Under any other circumstance, Marinette would have babbled something insanely stupid and cursed her friend for leaving her all alone with Adrien in her bedroom. But today?

Marinette just nods and watches the trapdoor close.

“So did you see where it went? You were kind of looking in the direction of your desk—”

“There was no spider,” Marinette whispers, her eyes as wide as saucers as Adrien turns back her way. She must look suitably horrified because Adrien’s face registers her fear almost immediately.

“I swear, it’s not what you think it is.”

Marinette’s eyes well up with tears, “It’s not what I think it is? You have cords on your wings!”

Adrien doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. She’s called him out on the truth and his shoulders curl with shame, putting even more undue stress on the wings that never should have been trussed up so tightly in the first place.

Before wing binding became a common practice, completely erect wings were a sign of nobility. From ancient Greek vases to Japanese tapestry, vertical wings in both men and women were a necessary evil to separate themselves from the lesser population who needed to use their wings to make a living. It was only in the Renaissance era that nobles began using tools to keep their wings completely upright and tightly pressed to the back. Depending on the culture, chains, piercings and other fibers were used to force the wings into an unnatural position.

For many, erect wings were meant to enhance a winged person’s desirability. Men whose wings were bound were seen as dignified and royal. Women whose wings were bound were lusted after and their families were paid handsomely for a hand in marriage. The tighter the bind, the better; the value of a winged person was based almost entirely on how small the tether was between the two wings. Marie Antoinette’s feathers were bound at 10cm, one of the tightest binds in history. Even after the French Revolution and the wars that would follow, winged people would continue the practice, especially in Hollywood.

The belief that wing binding made actors and actresses more desirable to their audiences was widely thought to have spurred the early 20th century resurgence of the fashion. Throughout the golden years of Hollywood, almost all winged celebrities were thought to have their wings bound, although many denied it. Winged and non-winged people alike began to open their eyes about the process in the 1950s, especially as detailed studies began to emerge about the muscular atrophy and skeletal deformation, and the practice started to become stigmatized, but never banned. It was, after all, a rich person’s custom, and nothing the wealthy deem valuable ever truly disappears.

These days, wing binding is pretty taboo, though there are still a few cases here and there. Ariana Grande and Tom Cruise are two celebrities that are rumoured to bind their wings and Marinette just happened to be staring at another one, her mouth completely dry.

“I’m so sorry…” she reaches out, feeling her heart ache in her chest, “Do you ever get to take them off?”

Adrien swallows uncomfortably and keeps his gaze firmly glued to his knees, “Sometimes.”

“What about when you sleep?”

“...sometimes.”

Marinette slaps her hands over her mouth.

“It’s not...I didn’t ask for it, if that’s what you’re wondering. It’s because Father thinks that I haven’t been working on my exercises enough,” Adrien mumbles, his voice low, “I have to work them everyday to keep them upright on my own but it’s...it’s impossible to keep them like that all the time. I guess I started slipping partway through last year.”

“But…” Marinette gasps, as Adrien reaches back and slips his fingers between his secondaries, revealing two other transparent nylon cords criss crossing the inside of his wings.

“It’s actually a pretty common trend in modelling,” Adrien shrugs, “Everyone in my agency does it, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Except it  _ is _ ,” Marinette tugs on her ponytails, “They’re hurting you!”

Adrien keeps his eyes distant, “You get used to it after a while. And as long as I don’t move them too much, it’s not so bad.”

“Oh my god…” Marinette trails off, “What about fencing?”

Adrien rolls his shoulders, “That’s pretty much the only time I’m allowed to loosen them. I need my wings to balance, although it’s hard sometimes when they’ve been bound tightly all day. I think my new teacher suspects something but he won’t say anything. Father is...too powerful.”

Marinette’s horror soon turns to indignation, “So why don’t you take them off why you’re at school?”

“Sometimes Nathalie pulls me out at a moment's notice,” Adrien sighs, “I wish I could though. Just...please don’t tell anyone. If Father finds out that you know…”

“My lips are sealed,” Marinette responds, her eyes still glued to the terrible nylon cords that he’s been hiding under his feathers all this time, “But next time you come to my house, you’re taking them off.”

Adrien’s lips curl at the edges, “I can take them off now if you want. I’m not getting picked up for another hour.”

“Do you need help?”

Stunned, Adrien turns towards her and finally locks eyes, “You want to...help me?”

Crush be damned, Marinette swallows the butterflies in her stomach and straightens her spine, “Of course I do. You’re my friend, Adrien. I don’t want to see you in pain.”   


“I…” Adrien’s mouth opens and closes like a fish and Marinette can honestly say she’s never seen him look this speechless, “Okay. Go for it.”

Now, had Marinette thought this through, she would not have offered to bury her fingers in Adrien’s soft, golden feathers. However, since she offered, she can’t really back down. Instead, Marinette gnaws on her lower lip to keep from screaming and she very gently shimmies the nylon cords down from the root of his bound feathers and unsnaps them once they’re loose enough, letting them clatter to the floor.

“Ah…” Adrien breathes a sigh of relief as Marinette frees the last of them. He spreads his wings and Marinette winces as his bones crack and pop, stretching them out completely. She’s never seen them before like this, his wingspan perfectly proportionate to his size. Patterns of deep ochre and crème dot the parts of his wings forced shut on a daily basis and Marinette’s breath is completely sucked away as he flaps them, revealing the golden iridescence of his primaries.

Which, of course, is where she realizes he’s been clipped too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you know by now? I love to hurt my boi 😉
> 
> Quantum Chickpea created some fanart for this lovely, dark au of mine. You can see it here: https://ao3bronte.tumblr.com/post/618033277640556544/minetteenfers-ao3bronte-came-up-with-this
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


	3. Adrien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst (and tears) continues...

The ride home from Marinette’s is quiet, with nothing but the sounds of Parisian traffic to keep him company. Nathalie isn’t in the vehicle today, not that she would have provided much of a distraction; she’s been off sick more often than not these days and Father has been keeping her primarily on office duty until she gets better. Adrien worries for her health sometimes, especially when she gets into one of her coughing fits, but he’s long learned not to interfere or ask questions. He used to make that mistake quite often when he was younger, but not anymore.

Adrien is sixteen and wears the weight of the world on his winged shoulders.

(He’d feel a lot lighter if he didn’t have wings at all.)

He finishes his homework mechanically and eats dinner in the dining room alone. Again, Nathalie doesn’t come around to watch or report on tomorrow’s schedule. He checks his calendar between bites of chicken and notices that he only has a fitting tomorrow. It’s a light week, which is nice. He enjoys them as the rarity that they are and tucks his mobile back into his pocket, wary of being surveilled.

Adrien doesn’t have anything better to do tonight but sit and stare blankly at the screen of his monitor. He tries to play a game but he can’t focus, his mind too wrapped up in the potential consequences of Marinette’s discovery. No one is allowed to know about the binding or the clipping; while wing binding — like plastic surgery and hair/fur pigmentation — is one of Hollywood’s worst kept secrets, having his wings physically clipped is completely illegal in the European Union. Only felons have their wings clipped and even then, not many felons are winged to begin with. The only other cases of wing clipping have happened to people who are victims of hate crimes and children who are abused by their parents. 

Adrien doesn’t consider himself to be any of those things.

Or he didn’t, until this afternoon.

Marinette had looked like her soul had left her body when she noticed that half of his primaries were missing. He’d been getting them clipped every year since he was a toddler and he’d long gotten used to the painless, but still mentally exhausting, process. Marinette, however, certainly wasn’t. She’d pinned him with questions that Adrien had struggled to answer and suddenly his babbling, bashful friend had turned into a tempest right before his eyes, furious and vehement that she would find a way to “fix things”.

Adrien sincerely doubts that. There aren’t many people who could expose Father for doing something illegal and get away with it unscathed; in fact, he can only think of one. Maybe if he asks Ladybug kindly enough, she’ll whisk him off to a foreign island where he can live in peace for a year or two until all of his primaries grow back. Once he can fly with his civilian wings, he’ll be unstoppable!

Dubious, he laughs through his nose and flops belly first onto his bed. His foreign island would have to pave a postage address or else he’d run out of his allergy medication. It’s a pain in the ass, being allergic to his own feathers. It’s why he loves being Chat Noir instead.

Well, maybe Ladybug could drop him off at a nice vineyard in Corsica for a year or two. He could help prune the vines and get a great tan in the process...he’s never shied away from hard work before and after a few months, his Adrien hands would be just as strong as the ones encased within his Chat Noir gloves.

That, and once he turns eighteen, his trust fund will be released to him and Adrien will finally be able to stand up for himself about the wing clipping. Adrien’s no idiot; he could barter his modelling for his freedom if he really wants to right now, but with no cash in the bank, Father would surely make his life as miserable as he could under his formidable roof.

He doesn’t want Father to get in trouble with the law. In anything, Adrien would rather just...try and navigate that landmine on his own. He’d long learned that asking about being allowed to fly would lead to punishments — sometimes severe — but Marinette had been clear about one thing. Wing clipping is _wrong_ in every sense of the word, especially if it’s done without consent, and Marinette seemed to even grow paler when he explained to her that he’d been clipped for as long as he can remember. Father was and always has been explicit about never using his wings for flying; his wings are for decoration only, property of Gabriel®. 

Until Plagg came around, Adrien just thought that being grounded, quite literally, was normal.

And, as Plagg assured him, having no autonomy was _not_ a very normal thing at all. 

Speaking of which, Adrien spots his companion staring at him from across his bedroom, “What?”

"You're thinking too loud," Plagg grumbles around a mouthful of Camembert.

"Sorry to bother you," Adrien snarks back, taking comfort in their familiar song and dance, "But one of my best friends just learned the biggest secret of my entire life and if she says anything to anyone and word gets out..."

Plagg meanders over, his eyes just a little bit greener than usual, "Eh, so what if Pigtails found out that dear old dad is _cutting off your feathers."_

"Well, when you say it like that…"

"Just because you're famous, doesn't make it okay," Plagg spits, "You ever see someone being declawed before?"

Adrien pales, "What?"

"It's not the same thing exactly," the kwami of destruction shrugs, plopping down on Adrien's pillow, "But one of my former wielder's had her claws removed. Want to know why?"

Adrien shakes his head. He really doesn't.

"Because it was the trendy thing to do at the time. Just like chopping off half your feathers and stringing you up like a roast chicken is now."

"Is it really that bad though? I mean, I can’t be the only person who’s clipped..." Adrien murmurs, glancing away, "Marinette made it sound like I was...I don't know, repulsive or something."

Plagg sighs, "All your famous friends, the ones on your Instant Spam—”

“Instagram.”

“Whatever,” Plagg quips, his whiskers raised, “The fur removal, the snout reductions, the eye widening, the scale bleaching; it’s all the same thing. Everybody’s gotta look like something different. But do they really want it? Just like you, you don’t think they have someone else pulling their strings?"

"I'm...not a puppet."

"And I'm the kwami of bath tubs," Plagg rolls his eyes, "Look, your dad has control of you. You don't. It's that simple."

Adrien’s expression hardens, "I don't want him to control me anymore."

"Then don't, cause guess what? You’ve got something all your other puppet pals would kill for”

“And what’s that?”

“Me!” Plagg rubs his paws together, his fangs gleaming in the lamplight, "You wanna be free? Let’s make it happen. What do you have to lose?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've spent the last few days or so discussing this heartbreaking little ditty on Tumblr. If you don't follow me there - and you really should because I post more work there then I do here - find me at ao3bronte. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed! 
> 
> (PS. Gabriel is the human equivalent of green, chunky phlegm, amirite?)


	4. Chat Noir

_ [Chat Noir] _

The masked hero of Paris scours the city for a beacon of red from high above, his green eyes cleaving through the darkness. Unlike feathered wings, his membraned ones are soundless and he likes the way they slice through the air with patent ease, the perfect limbs for living in the shadows. He could get used to the idea of being a cat in the night.

But as tempting as running away from home is right now, he’s still left with the uncertainty of having no money to care for himself. It’s something he’ll have to figure out if he wants to get out from under Father’s thumb because ultimately, Plagg is right. He has the power and he has the courage; he just simply needs to find the means to try.

So he follows Plagg’s advice: Ladybug will always know what to do.

He finds her weaving through the trees in Paris’ only night market, perusing the stalls from a few metres high. He’s curious to know what she’s buying and waits until she’s finished making a transaction before swooping down and up beside her, floating on a summery updraft, “Good evening, M’Lady. Running some errands, I see.”

Ladybug must have sensed him because she hardly flinches at his sudden presence, “I’m on the hunt for something specific actually.”

“And what are you looking for? Purrhaps I can be of assistance.”

“Actually,” Ladybug says, banking towards the nearby cathedral, “I need to ask you something.”

Chat frowns, “You do?”

Ladybug doesn’t answer him, nor does she quell the butterflies in his stomach as she lands on an outcropping and promptly sits down, glancing out into the evening. Chat swallows the lump in his throat and follows her lead, letting his wings flap open haphazardly behind them as he sits down beside her. 

“I have a...personal question to ask,” Ladybug begins, kicking her feet against the cathedral’s stone facade, “About today. You said something that I...I didn’t really take seriously.”

Chat stiffens, “What do you mean?”

“You made a comment and I thought you were being...metaphorical or something.”

“Metaphorical?” Chat snorts, “M’Lady, I’m the king of witty puns, not colourful prose.”

“Witty? More like witless,” Ladybug nudges him in the side with her elbow, her lips curled into a smile, “Anyway, I wanted to ask you if you meant it.”

“Meant what?”

“You told me...you said to me today…” Ladybug trails off, seeming to struggle with her words, “You said that the reason that you have these...weird looking bat things instead of normal, feathered wings is so that no one could touch them.”

“You can touch mine whenever you want,” Chat tries to joke only for it to come out as a strained mumble, “I mean, if you want to.”

It’s highly frowned upon to touch another person’s wings without their consent; in essence, giving permission to brush and preen one’s wings is usually a huge sign of confidence, trust and intimacy and Chat has that in spades for Ladybug. He’s brushed up against hers and vice versa more times than he can count during fights and frays but they’ve never formally talked about it. For their kind, to run your fingers through someone else's feathers is a privilege. And to be wrapped up in someone’s wings...well, that level of closeness is something Chat has been craving for as long as his memories stretch back. 

Ladybug’s cheeks bloom with colour, “That’s...um, can we get back to what I was saying? Because it’s really bothering me and I need to know.”

“Then just ask, M’Lady. Your humble cat is here to serve.”

“Okay,” Ladybug takes a deep breath and releases it, staring pointedly at a cell tower light in the distance, “You said...you said you made your wings look that way so no one would clip them.”

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

Chat’s heartbeat suddenly starts hammering in his chest. He opens his mouth to speak and finds that his voice is paralyzed by a sudden panic and Chat desperately,  _ desperately _ wants to fly away.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,’ Ladybug seems to sense that something’s gone wrong and takes him by the elbow, “You don’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just wanted to know because—oh my god, Chat, are you alright?”

Chat is definitely  _ not  _ alright. In fact, if she had asked him before this afternoon, he would have probably brushed her off with a joke. But tonight her words cut far too close to the bone for him to be able to laugh this one off and now that Ladybug’s sensed his weakness, he’s not sure he’s going to be able to avoid telling her the truth.

“Okay, you need to—we need to breathe together,” Ladybug uses her strength to turn him around and face her, holding him by the shoulders. He lets her move him around like a ragdoll and is reminded of how Plagg had compared him to a puppet only an hour ago, “Inhale for me, that’s it. And out, good. Let’s do it again. In. Hold it. And out, yes. You’re doing great, Chat, one more time…”

He breathes with her, his eyes locked on hers and there’s something there beneath her voice that he can sense intrinsically. It’s the sound she makes when she’s struggling to find a solution; it’s the tell she has when she’s running out of time.

“There. You look better,” Ladybug squeezes his shoulders, scanning his face carefully, “Do you feel better? Keep breathing.”

Chat nods, his mind still racing. Should he be honest with her? Would she react like Marinette had when she’d seen that he was bound? Or worse, when she saw his broken feathers, hacked off right above the quill?

It feels like hours before Chat finally gets himself together. He delves into the recesses of his mind to find things to distract him, counting the spots on her suit and feathers, the freckles on her cheeks. He follows the contours of her wings as they splay behind her, half curled like she’s trying to shield him from the world. He supposes he could use the protection, now that he thinks about it; all of his darkest secrets have been exposed today and it will change his entire life forever.

“Thanks,” he murmurs eventually, embarrassment creeping up his spine. His wings furl, draping over his body like a blanket, “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, Chat…” Ladybug reaches out, taking him by the hand, “Was I...was what you said true? About being clipped?”

Chat folds his legs up against his chest and rests his chin on his knees, “Yes.”

Ladybug closes her eyes and winces, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Chat responds automatically, dipping his head in shame, “It’s just the way it is.”

“No, it’s really not,” Ladybug responds, using her other hand to cup his cheek and raise his chin. He makes eye contact with her once again and sees a tempest in her eyes, the same tempest he saw this afternoon. 

His jaw drops.

“I was here looking for feathers for my friend,” Ladybug’s eyes are wide and frightened and when she starts to shake, he starts to shake with her, “To replace his feathers. I thought I could try imping them so I could teach him how to fly,” Ladybug’s voice catches in her throat, scraping like shattered glass as she tries to speak again, “But I think he already knows how.”

Chat is rendered speechless for the second time in as many minutes, “The first time I tried to fly...it was with you.”

“And I told you I would fix things,” Ladybug’s eyes shine with watery determination, “I meant it, every word.”

“But how?”

Ladybug looks away for a moment to gather herself before pinning him down with an expression so palpably Ladybug that Chat’s wings physically flop flat against the stone they’re sitting on, “I don’t know yet,” she admits, tugging on his hand ever so gently, “But I’m Ladybug. I’m going to figure it out.”

He nods. There’s no one else in the world that he trusts more than her.

“Come here,” she tugs on his hand and he relents bonelessly as she pulls him forwards. He braces himself on his knees but she just tugs him harder and his eyes widen as her efforts pull him against her body, his chest pressed against hers. She wraps him up in the tightest hug he can handle and Chat gasps, the pressure of her warmth all encompassing as she curls her wings around them both.

Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. He hasn’t been...no one’s ever wrapped him up in their wings before.

“We’re going to fix this, okay?” Ladybug murmurs against the shell of his ear. Her feathers are downy and soft and don’t tickle his nose in the slightest, “It’s you and me against the world, right?”

“Right,” Chat’s voice is shaking as he melts into her embrace. Throwing caution to the wind, he buries his face in the crook of her neck and tries to fight the way the maelstrom of today’s reveal wants to wreck him more than they already have. But here, in the shelter of her embrace...he breathes and she breathes with him, shielded from the world in the safety of her wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is over...for now. There's so much more story to tell but I'm not sure I have the time to explore it or the fanbase who wants it. As always, when I make these little AU creations, the future of them is really up to you.
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Want more? Up to you.
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


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